


Spellweaver

by Rapis_Razuri



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Cross-cultural, F/M, Gen, Growing Up, Headcanon, Invisible Kingdom | Revelation Route, No Deeprealms, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 07:03:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10270982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rapis_Razuri/pseuds/Rapis_Razuri
Summary: What it was like to live in a world without a boundary between east and west, between black and white? He was half and half, but why should those halves divide the person that he was?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Author: Rapis-Razuri  
> Beta: Anghelic  
> Word Count: 7535
> 
> Happy birthday Forrest!

_i. heal_

Siegbert struck the first hit. It didn’t matter that his opponent was bigger and stronger and was flanked by two others while he was shorter and smaller - he did it anyway. It didn’t matter that he was the Crown Prince and heir to the throne, but he had attacked first and Sven, the young son of Lord Norwood, was only reacting in self-defense.

Smaller than them all and weaker than most boys his age, Forrest backed away to the wall when fists began to fly. His cousin was fierce and brave, but he was also outmatched. Sven was a bully, but he was well trained and has trained longer. There was the sickening crunch of a nose broken by a balled fist, a boy falling flat on his back and Forrest couldn’t hold back his tears any more.

“Stop it!” he screamed, darting out and trying to pull one of the boys off his cousin to no avail. He was easily pushed aside, landing flat on his bottom. “ _Stop hurting him!_ ”

“What’s going on?”

Through his tears, Forrest held nothing but _relief_ when he recognized the two women that just happened to walk in on this scene. Aunt Hana was not his aunt by blood or by marriage, but she and Mother has been close friends since they were girls, so she may as well have been. One moment, she was on the other side of the corridor. The next, right before Forrest, pulling apart the fighting boys as though they were mere puppies.

Mother followed at a slower, but just as urgent pace. She bent at the knees to roll her nephew, who was curled up into a fetal position, first onto his back and then helping him into a sitting position. She used one hand to hold to bridge of his nose as she began to inspect his injuries. Siegbert opened his mouth, a small trickle of blood running down the corner of his lips, trying to say something, but Mother quickly hushed him as she retrieved her festal. Not looking away from Siegbert, she said, “Hana? Could you please escort these children back to their parents? I believe Lord Norwood and his wife are currently in a meeting, but Lord Farley often reads in the gardens at this hour and I saw Lady Waldgrave in the training yard earlier.”

There was a wicked look in Hana’s eyes as she replied, “With pleasure.” To Forrest’s tormentors, she ushered them towards the way she and Mother came, “Come on now, you heard Lady Sakura.”

They follow the samurai reluctantly, but not before Sven turned around and hissed “ _cowardly mutt_ ” at Forrest.

Forrest winced. If Mother heard, she made no indication of it, her attention all on his cousin. One wave, one brief whiff of summer winds and perfumed blooms that were not actually there and Mother let go of Siegbert’s nose. “How does that feel?”

Siegbert gingerly touched his nose and nodded, his lips quivering slightly as he pressed together in a firm line before dropping his eyes. Mother helped him to his feet, keeping a firm hold on his hand while giving his chest another poke. “Does that hurt?”

“N-No,” he winced as he spoke.

“Siegbert,” Mother said, her voice as soft as ever, “please do not lie. I know you don’t wish to appear weak, but I am a healer. I cannot help you if you are not honest with me. Please let me.”

Chastised, Siegbert turned pink and nodded. “A-A little. B-But only when you touch it like that…”

Mother withdrew her hand. “Good.” She took a handkerchief - white, trimmed with red lace - wetted it with her tongue and began the process of rubbing the blood off Siegbert’s face. “Nothing else is broken, just bruised. You’ll be fine, but I want to you to take it easy for today, alright? No training.”

That made Siegbert look up immediately. “I can’t!” he cried. “Father s-said he wanted to w-watch me in the y-yard today.”

“I’m sorry, Siegbert,” Mother said, sounding truly apologetic. “I know this is important to you, but you must wait for another day. Your father is a fair man, Siegbert. He will understand if he knew why.”

“No!” That little word caused everyone to startle. “Please don’t tell Father,” Siegbert pleaded, raising his eyes to stare imploringly up at his aunt. “I don’t want him to know…”

“...Siegbert?”

At the sound of his name, he turned towards Forrest, sniffling. “I just wanted to protect him,” he said, “but I couldn’t. W-What would Father think?”

“He would think that what you did was a very brave and noble thing.”

“But I _didn’t_ do anything! Miss Hana did.”

“You were protecting your cousin,” Mother repeated firmly. “You were out numbered and you knew you might not win, but that didn’t matter to you because they were hurting somebody you care about, isn’t that right?”

“R-Right.”

“Then there is nothing for you to be ashamed of.” Siegbert’s face was slightly red, especially in the area around his nose, but clean of blood. Mother’s handkerchief was not. “I know it’s difficult,” she said. “Nobody _wants_ to be weak, but hurting other people just to _prove_ that you are strong is not a measure of strength at all.” She sighed and tucked the soiled kerchief back into the folds of her dress. “I won’t say anything to your father yet, but since you don’t have any lessons right now I want to you rest. Reading is fine. Sword-fighting is not. And if you start hurting again, you _must_ tell me or another healer, okay?”

Siegbert let out a long, shuddering breath and nodded. “O-Okay… Thank you, Aunt Sakura.”

“Of course,” Mother smiled kindly. “Let’s go back to your room so you can change into a clean shirt.” She then turned her soft eyes on her own son. “Forrest, sweetheart. Are you alright?”

“Y-yes.” He looked to his cousin, who always projected an aura of calm and certainty. Forrest hadn’t realized that had been a mask until today. “Siegbert protected me,” he said, hoping his word will help persuade Siegbert that he did not fail anyone. _But he did get hurt because of me_. “H-He came just in time.”

Mother held out her other hand for him to take. He did, her graceful fingers closing around his smaller ones. Siegbert walked on his own, too old to be holding his aunt’s hand as she accompanied him to the royal wing of the castle.

Siegbert bowed stiffly before he retreated into his room, uttering another thanks. The door closed behind his cousin and it was just Forrest and his mother. They continued on their way. Not either of them spoke until they were in the privacy of his mother’s apartments.

The room was furnished differently from the rest of the castle with _tatami_ mats, low tables, cushions and a folding screen decorated with brush paintings of snow-capped mountains and clear skies. A recessed alcove was set in the corner decorated with a hanging scroll of Hoshidan calligraphy and an arrangement of flowers. Only the most hardy flowers grew in Nohr’s soils, but these rice lilies came from the renovated greenhouses. A little piece of Hoshido in the heart of Nohr. Uncle Takumi and his family usually resided in these rooms when they visited. Mother often held meetings with Hoshidan guests here rather than in another room.

Forrest slipped off his shoes before stepping in any further. Mother settled him down beside her at the _kotasu_ table and had a maid bring them some tea. She grew up sitting in _seiza_ , but Forrest found that position difficult to maintain for a long period of time.

“Forrest,” she said once the maid was dismissed, “can you tell me what happened today?”

Trying not to squirm, he stared at the contents of his mug, at the ice cubes melting in the hot water. Then he looked up at his mother and under her gentle gaze, told her everything. Mother listened and when it became too much, she let him come over to bury himself into her arms. He was too old for this, he found himself thinking, but he felt warm and comforted and _safe_ that he didn’t care.

“Oh, Forrest…” she sighed, “I-I’m sorry, I had no idea…” As she spoke, she stroked his hair, rose pink, just like her’s, but now cut to the chin when it used to be long. Father always said he found Mother’s presence calming and Forrest wondered if this was what he meant. His mother could fix broken noses in an instant with her magic and Forrest was still young enough to wish she could do the same for his problems.

Mother let him cry for as long as he wanted and when he was done, she wiped the tears on his face away as easily as she did the blood on Siegbert’s. She didn't tell him his hair would grow back, but instead handed him a mirror so he could watch as she evened out the edges. When she was done, she told him he looked very much like Aunt Hinoka.

“Aunt Hinoka wouldn't have let them do that to Siegbert,” Forrest said bitterly, lowering the mirror. “She would've taught them a _lesson_.”

Mother’s eyes were sad. “Oh, sweetie,” she sighed, “You didn't _let_ this happen. None of this is your fault. It’s… It’s awful, but it’s not your fault.”

Swallowing his tears, Forrest nodded, but he couldn’t help but think otherwise.

A few things happened in the next few days. First, Uncle Xander seemed to be spending more time together with Siegbert. Second, Lord Norwood and his family quietly and discreetly left the capital without much by way of explanation, much to the court’s confusion. And third, without a leader to follow, Felix and Oskar actually seemed to _shrink_ when they crossed paths with Forrest, uttering unusually polite greetings to their prince.

He didn’t realize it until much later, but the first time Siegbert bled to protect his cousin was the last time Forrest was ever mocked by his peers for being half-Hoshidan.

* * *

  _ii. bloom festal_

His hair was still short when he pushed the Fire tome back towards his father and said he didn’t want to follow his footsteps as a dark mage. All he could think about was Siegbert’s broken nose. Magic wouldn’t do that, but nonetheless his stomach churned. He rather be a healer fixing wounds rather than causing them. _Next time Siegbert gets hurt because of me, I’ll be able to make sure he’s okay. Like Mother. It’s the least I can do for him. I can do that, right?_

He wondered if Siegbert has ever considered the path of anything other than a cavalier before.

“I don’t object."

Forrest breathed a sigh of relief.

“But I do want you to be certain you know what you’re getting into.”

That made him startle. “H-Huh?”

“What I mean is that, contrary to what you may have heard, being a healer is far from ‘doing nothing’ and it is _not_ easy.” Father leaned forward as he explained, resting his elbows on his desk. His eyes were serious, but not unkind. “It requires patience, precision, dedication, a level head under pressure and a willingness to be exposed to repeated failures without losing faith. Magic is not limitless and there will be times where it will fail you.

“I can promise there will come a time where you must watch somebody you are trying to save die before you - perhaps you may even find yourself ending their lives yourself to spare them further suffering. Many times, you may be the only person who can offer them comfort them in their last moments as will the burden of telling their loved ones fall to you. Whether their grief will make them lash out and blame you for not ‘trying hard enough’ or they will understand that you did your best, I cannot say, but whichever their reaction, you _must_ be able to receive it without breaking your conduct.

“Furthermore, while you will have to learn how to wield a weapon eventually, your role on the battlefield is, first and foremost, a supportive one. Your goal is to _protect_ and _defend_ your comrades, to _save lives_ , not to seek glory for yourself. Even in times of peace, there may be times where everything seems hopeless… moments where you’ll feel like nothing you do matters, where you feel you must devote all of yourself to others to feel like you’re worth something. Can you to live with that kind of burden?”

Forrest shuffled his feet, feeling something in the pit of his stomach. Father seemed to realize. “You don't have to decide right this moment,” he said patiently, “Take a few days to think it over. You may find observing the castle healers at work informative. Talk to them, ask them questions as long as you don’t make yourself a nuisance.”

He tried not to let his growing apprehensions show. “S-So… y-you’re okay with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Father asked, “Swinging pointy metal sticks and making things explode aren’t the only paths to power. So long as _you_ choose one - or carve one on your own - I am okay with it.”

* * *

  _iii. freeze_

Out of the blue one day, Niles asked if he wanted to hear a story about his mother. When Forrest had hesitated, his father’s retainer had grinned and assured him it was the kind of story Father would consider _appropriate_ to tell.

“So, one night during a feast the king was hosting for some occasion I couldn’t be bothered to remember - you were still an infant back then so you wouldn’t remember either - your mother took leave to check on you.” Niles grinned, showing his teeth. “Do you know what she found in the nursery?”

Despite the odd feelings of foreboding, Forrest shook his head, inviting the man to continue.

“Two dead guards, both with big red smiles in their throats, a nurse strangled to death, and an… ah, _uninvited guest_ standing over your cradle.”

Forrest shuddered. He could tell Niles to stop, _order_ him to stop, but something primal in him wanted to know…

“So, the assassin had at least a head on her, maybe two - I don't remember that either - but, well… she caught him by surprise, took out that knife she always kept hidden and did _this_.” He pretended to stab his eyepatch with his finger and made an exaggerated gurgle. His smirk widened. Forrest flinched. Niles lowered his hand and drew back, but his impish smile remained.

“Just kidding. Lady Sakura didn’t thrust anything into the scum, but he was blind and helpless by the time she was done with him, but still alive. Imagine that, an assassin caught trying to kill a prince of Nohr and Lady Sakura left him _alive_. Know why?” No answer, so Niles leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “because somebody wanted her little boy dead and she wanted to know who.”

Somehow, it was difficult to say which was the harder truth to accept: the fact that somebody tried to kill him when he was still a baby or that his gentle mother could actually do something like… like... that. Mother hated seeing people get hurt. That was why she didn’t have much fondness for tourneys despite their importance. That was why she was a healer.

“Well… she got what she wanted after a few hours of screaming. Turns out you weren’t the original target of the contract - that would be your mother. _You_ were supposed to be a bonus.” Pause. Forrest shivered. “I’ve never seen your father so pissed off before. And I’ve _seen_ Lord Leo ‘pissed off’.”

“But _why_?” Forrest asked, his throat dry. “Why would anyone want to… want to k-kill my mother?” His mother was a _good_ person. She and Aunt Elise were the reasons why the smallfolk were better fed and cared for than ever before. She showed care and concern for the people who served her, which was why the castle servants liked her despite her foreignness. She made sure Father and Uncle Xander, both prone to overworking themselves, were taken care of even in the most trying times. She helped the queen with running the royal household so she could spend more time with her family. She never had an unkind word to say about anyone. Once, when a woman who liked flirting with Father got hurt in a riding accident, Mother treated her like any other patient and even sent her a pot of geraniums as she recovered.

Why would anyone want her dead?

For the first time since he began his story, since the time he’s known him, Niles actually looked… sympathetic. He patted the young prince on the shoulder and said in a sincere, almost apologetic voice, “You’ll understand when you’re older Lord Forrest.”

* * *

  _iv. silence_

It was a testament to how well Father and Niles knew each other when Father followed up on the story just a few days later. “She wouldn’t let you out of her sight for weeks after.”

“Is it true though?” Forrest asked. “T-That Mother _attacked_ somebody? And she…” _Didn’t thrust anything into… he was blind and helpless by the time she was done with him_. “Niles said she blinded him.”

Across from him, his father’s brown eyes flickered over to study him. “Would you rather she did nothing?”

“No!”

“She blinded him, yes. Without immediate care, a wound like the one she gave him would have killed him, but your mother saved him because she knew he would be a valuable source of information,” Father said, moving aside some of the items on his desk, so he could take a perch against the edge. “Information about our family’s enemies, Forrest. Even so, you must understand that Sakura… your mother isn’t the kind of person who _likes_ to cause suffering.”

“But why does she do it anyway?” Forrest whispered, “Why would she do it if she hated it so much?”

“Because… Because she won’t run away from hardship, no matter what. Even if she hates it. She once told me herself, ‘ _I wish the war would just stop, but I can't close my eyes and hope it passes!_ ’”

“M-Mother said that, really?”

“Yes. She could never see the glory in warfare, but she would do whatever she felt was necessary to protect those she cares about.” Father was smiling to himself now. “When most people talk about cherry trees, it's always the blossoms they mention, never the roots, so words like that show what she's truly like, doesn't it?”

The disturbed shock he had felt when Niles first unveiled this side of his mother faded away into admiration. He always known Mother was courageous - she left her home in Hoshido to marry Father despite the years of animosity between their countries after all - but he didn’t realize how deep it ran.

“This is not a story your mother tells with pride,” Father said quietly, breaking through Forrest’s thoughts. “I trust you to keep this to yourself.”

* * *

_v. rescue_

“So… Is it okay now?”

Forrest drew back, the glow from jewel of his Heal staff beginning to dim. The little ball of brown feathers stirred in the cup formed by Kiragi’s hands and chirped, little black eyes looking up at the two boys. “Yeah, I think it’ll be fine now.”

“Great!” The Hoshidan Prince leaped to his feet, his wide grin back on his face.

“How do we get him back?”

“I’ll put him back. Duh!”

“The nest is really high up there though… Are you really gonna climb all that way?”

“Of course! We can't just leave the little guy here can we? What if his parents are worried about him?”

Forrest thought back to the party last night. Him leaving for a moment only to get lost in the gardens, Uncle Takumi finding him and taking him back. Both his parents had been _frantic_. “Yeah...”

His fearless cousin began to climb, baby bird clutched securely to his chest. As Forrest watched, he couldn't help but imagine Kiragi making a misstep, stepping on a branch too small to support his weight, losing his grip and falling like a reckless young wyvern rider who became too bold. Some had been lucky. Some had not. He wasn’t supposed to know about the unlucky ones. He wasn't supposed to know about his mother losing her composure either.

Kiragi was fine though. He made it to the nest and placed the bird back into its home. “There you go, little buddy,” Forrest could dimly hear him say, “Keep practicing, don't let this failure get you down or you’ll never learn to fly!”

* * *

_vi. bird spirit_

There had been another baby bird that wasn’t so lucky.

His mother wrapped its little body in a length of cloth and using her own two hands, dug a little grave among the moonroses in the gardens. The way she covered the bird and patted down the mound of earth was as gentle as the way she tucked Forrest into bed. 

* * *

_vii. fimbulvetr_

“ _You’re a disgrace_.”

Each of those words was simple and the meaning of the sentence created by stringing them together should have been obvious. What was difficult was applying that meaning to the context of the situation: his father’s cold expression, the tone of utter disgust and the fact that, yes, those words were his and they were directed at Forrest.

The pain of being dismissed by his father was nothing compared to what he had felt when Mother stepped up to defend him. Forrest had never seen his parents fight before. Always, he had associated his parents with a sort of calm domesticity and quiet affection. They weren’t as showy about their love as some others, but he never had any reason to doubt the fact he that they _did_ love each other. They weren't just husband and wife. They were a _team_. Forrest recalled a time when Mother came back from inspecting a clinic on Macarath and reported an usually high demand for a herb that was the only known cure for a fever endemic to the area around Mount Garou. She had no proof, but she said she thought there might be illegal wolfskin pelts being transported in the area. Father didn’t dismiss her like some of the others did and, with a little investigation, indeed uncovered and subsequently shut down an underground market selling exactly that not two miles from where her suspicions arose.

But now… Because of Forrest, they were standing opposed to each other, instead of working together. Father sounded _so cold_. Not quite the professional, almost detached, voice he used in the courtroom, not quite the disgusted tone he used with Forrest just a second ago, but still so very different from the way Forrest was used to hearing his father use when it came to Mother that he wondered if everything he knew about his parents’ relationship was a lie.

At least Mother didn’t seem to sound very different, but there were times where she stuttered. That scared him in a different way. Mother was supposed to be a pillar of gentle strength. Nothing was supposed to shake her and yet… that _was_ a lie. A young wyvern rider, just a few years older than Forrest, whose fall left her crippled and then dead had led to tears behind closed doors. She was just good at hiding it all.

And… he wasn’t really sure what spurred him into doing it. When Father didn’t immediately respond to Mother quietly saying, “I-I just thought _you_ of all people would know w-what it is like to be rejected by a parent,” he pushed himself between them and screamed, loud and shrill, “ _STOP IT!!_ ”

Both of them looked down at him, equally surprised by his outburst. Forrest swallowed. “I…” His voice was hoarse. “I’m sorry…” He didn’t know if he should be looking at Father or Mother or the floor. “I'm sorry! I won’t do anymore. I won’t wear dresses anymore, I promise! Just stop fighting. _Please.._.”

Silence. The world seemed to still with the breathing of three people being the only thing that sounded real. His parents eyes slowly slid from him to each other. Father glaring down at them both. Mother biting her lip once, but standing her ground. Finally, Father stormed out, not even sparing Forrest a second glance as the door slammed shut behind him in a way that made this resolution feel so hollow. Forrest slowly turned to his mother, unsure what to expect.

She took a long breath before reaching forward to straighten his clothes and retie the ribbon at the front of his shirt so it was hanging even. “Forrest…” She looked tired, shoulders slumped, eyes lowered. She _sounded_ tired. It was like that fight completely drained her. “No matter what he says, your father doesn't hate you. You’re his son.” 

* * *

_viii. enfeeble_

It was hard to believe that when everyone in the castle seemed to have picked up the signs of friction between Prince Leo and his wife. Forrest wasn’t a spiteful person by any means, but every time he overheard a courtier whispering excitedly to his or her friends about what an _opportunity_ this was, about how that _interloper_ was finally going to be put in her place, he wanted to set them and their fanciest, most expensive clothing on fire. Even at his level with tomes, he could do _that_.

“Do you think it’s true?” he finally asked Subaki one day as the man polished his naginata. “Is it true that Mother is going to be set aside?”

If the sky knight was any less well mannered, he very likely would’ve snorted and rolled his eyes. “Not unless your father somehow loses all his wits overnight.”

At Forrest’s nonplussed expression, he quickly retracted his statement, “Your parents’ marriage is what formally seals the alliance between Hoshido and Nohr. To set her aside or to take a mistress after he willingly signed a contract stating that he would not is akin to spitting on that alliance and all of Hoshido. King Ryoma is her brother, your uncle and would not take such an insult to her honour lightly.

“Nohr would also lose rapport with the Wind Tribe because Chieftain Hayato is _her_ good friend rather than any Nohrian’s and has suffered personal losses to King Garon’s reign. Izumo and Kohga are unlikely to react _as_ strongly, but Archduke Izana thinks highly her and it is well known that Shura is fiercely loyal to the Hoshidan royal family for helping him rebuild the country.

“She isn't without allies in Nohr either. Lady Sakura is close friends with Princess Elise and the queen and the King of Nohr himself values her perspective on a number of matters, both personal and political. Between her connections and everything she’s done for Nohr since she married, your mother isn’t a woman who could be easily set aside or replaced. If by some chance that you father intends to do so anyway there would be a great number of people who would take issue with her being insulted in such a way.”

“I-I…” The way Subaki explained this to him made sense, but the scope of what originally seemed to Forrest as something that affected only him and his immediate family was mind-boggling. “I see...”

“ _But_ -” the tone of Subaki’s voice turned thoughtful and less grim, “I truly don’t think you have anything to worry about, Lord Forrest. Your parents may be at odds with each other right now, but this wouldn’t be the first time and I doubt it will be the last. It won’t be forever. Lady Sakura is a patient woman and whatever his faults, Prince Leo truly does care for her. If anyone can move past this, it’s them.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.” Subaki said firmly with a confident smile. “I know this is going to sound strange coming from me, but nobody is perfect, not even your parents. Just people trying to do their best, so… just give them a little time.”

* * *

_ix. mend_

“Forrest?”

A startled gasp, a scramble to put sewing supplies away even though there was very little point. His kit was out in the open, as were the rolls of cloth Uncle Takumi sent him for his last birthday. He didn’t wear the dresses he made anymore like he promised, but he found that he couldn’t stop making them entirely. “H-Hello Father.”

“There… There’s no need to rush.” There was a note of uncertainty Forrest has never heard from his father before. “I was just wondering why you’re sewing in a place like this.” His eyes swept around the empty church, lingering briefly on the statue of the Dusk Dragon Forrest was sitting before. “Surely there’d be more comfortable places with better lighting?”

“I… I like it here, is all,” Forrest replied in a mumble, “I just wanted a change of scenery...”

“I see.” Father cleared this throat. “May I join you?”

“O-Of course.”

So he did on the ground, knees slightly bent and it was then did Forrest realize this father was holding a dark bundle on his lap. Things were quiet for a while. Father looking ahead and Forrest looking down, trying not to fidget too much with the cloth on his lap.

Finally, Father was the one to act, unfurling an old, worn woolen scarf, and spoke. “Do you know what this is, Forrest?”

A scarf, obviously, but that question didn't seem to be rhetorical. He frowned and shook his head.

Father smiled, actually smiled warmly as he told him, “This is the scarf you knitted for me when you were three,” he explained, “At the time, there always seemed to be something going on, so I was always riding in and out of Windmire. It was the middle of winter. One day, you went to your mother and asked, ‘why are Papa’s hands always cold’?”

“...I did?”

A nod. “Apparently, that made you say you wanted to make me a pair of gloves.” Father was actually smiling as he recounted this memory to Forrest, “But you settled on knitting a scarf after you were told gloves were too complex for you. You gave it to me on the day I was leaving to attend to matters with the Ice Tribe. You were so nervous, you couldn’t look me in the eye when you gave it to me because you were afraid that I wouldn’t like it.”

Forrest looked at the scarf again. Even if it had been brand new, something so short and thin shouldn’t have done _that_ much to guard against the blizzards that guarded Chieftain Flora’s village. “Did you?” Even as he asked, a part of him already knew. The scarf was now old and coming apart and yet, Father still had it.

“It was something my son put his heart into making for me. Of course I did.” There were little pink flowers and twisting green vines embroidered on the cuffs of his coat. Mother embroidered little pink flowers on everything she made she made for him. Forrest could imagine her making that coat by candlelight in her solar, each stitch carefully made.Maybe she had pricked herself by accident once or twice when her eyes began to tire and her mind became drowsy as the night wore on. The gods knew how often that happened to Forrest.

Like with the scarf, someone could look at the coat, the raw materials used to make it, and think it was easy if they didn’t know about the steps in between. Mother once told him that even though leather - let alone cloth - was hardly the same as human skin, it still made for good practice.

But a coat like that wasn’t the spontaneous byproduct of ‘practice’ for suturing wounds.

There was some awkward silence. Father didn’t seem to be eager to start monologuing again, but he cleared his throat and began, “I’ve done some thinking. And I believe I owe you an apology.”

Forrest swallowed, but said nothing.

Father sighed, his eyeline pointed at the spot on the ground between his feet. “Your mother was right about one thing, I do know what it is to be rejected by a parent. When you were born, I swore to myself that I would never do what mine did to me, to my siblings and yet… well, I still did. You at least had your mother, but I… No, my past is no excuse for the way I treated you. You deserved better from me, Forrest. I’m sorry.”

Forrest had no idea what to say to that. Accept his apology and move on? If he did, what should he do next? Has Uncle Xander ever apologized to Siegbert for something? Uncle Takumi and Kiragi? He kept his eyes determinedly on his lap, even when he felt his father’s eyes on him.

“I’ll understand if you can’t forgive me for such a thing,” Father said, his coat swishing as he rose again. “But nonetheless, I will learn to be a better father to you. I swear it.”

He was about to leave. Forrest looked up at his retreating figure and something in him drove him to stand and give chase. There was a little grunt of surprise as Forrest grabbed his father from behind. “I forgive you,” he said, his hold tightening. “E-Even though I became a healer because I admired Mother, I look up to you too.”

“Is…” Was that so hard to believe? “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“I see…” Father removed Forrest’s arms away, but only so he could turn around and lower himself to his knees to embrace him. So many people thought his father cold, but Forrest knew they were wrong, so very wrong. When Mother hugged him, there was never any room to doubt the love she had for him. When Mother hugged him, Forrest knew safety and comfort, knew she would do everything within her power to protect him and make him happy.

When Father hugged him, it was different. It wasn’t _bad_ , just different. When Father hugged him, Forrest could feel that there was a wisp of doubt, the tenseness in the arms encircling him. Not from lack of love, no, but from the hesitancy of someone who was trying to give someone the kind of affection he himself had been depraived of. When Father hugged him, Forrest still felt safe and comforted because the man hugging him was not perfect, just a person trying to do his best.

He didn’t cling, as he returned the hug, squeezing hard enough, but not too tightly.

“I'm so sorry, Forrest.” Father whispered. “No one should ever have to feel ashamed of who they are. That's the last thing I want for my beloved son…”

* * *

_x. recover_

Uncle Xander allowed Father to take the next day off to spend with his family. They couldn't go too far since his parents would be expected to resume their usual duties tomorrow, but Forrest didn't mind.

It was spent mostly in the quiet privacy of Father’s study. Father had given Forrest’s tutor leave to take the day off as well. While Forrest liked the man greatly for his patience and charming tendency to get distracted by and ramble on and on about topics he found remotely fascinating, he relished this chance to spend more time with his parents. He and Father sat together by the fireplace with books, papers, and notes in an organized mess around them. They reviewed dates and names and key events while Mother sat in the desk writing letters in the background.

They were given strict orders to not be interrupted unless it was an urgent matter. Lunch, however, was held in Mother’s solar with his parents’ retainers and Nina where Hana gleefully recounted the story of Subaki falling off his horse, at Nina’s request and to the sky knight’s chagrin.

It was wonderful, really. Forrest didn’t want the day to end, but to end it must.

Mother placed her quill down, giving her writing hand a little shake before rubbing her eyes. There was a spot of ink on her wrist. Father smiled at this and asked, “Finally done?”

“Yes.” She locked the finished documents into the top drawer if the desk. “Everything is settled, the paperwork has been drafted… These letters just need to be sent.”

“Mm-hmm…” Father took the key from her and kissed her forehead. It was so quick, Forrest didn't even have a chance to look away before the contact ended. “I can take care of that after dinner. You should rest.“

“Thank you, Leo.” Mother smiled brightly back at him. Forrest had no idea how relieved he was that Subaki was right about them until now. “And speaking of dinner, I would like some air before then.” At Father’s offer to have someone fetch her a cloak, she shook her head, “No, no. It’s fine, I can take care of it on my own.” She nodded towards Forrest, “This way, the two of you can talk about… that thing you wanted to talk about.”

* * *

_xi. physic_

“Go ahead. Take it.”

He did. The tome was heavy for something that weighed very little. It was only to be expected. Such an innocuous-looking book and yet so powerful. So, _so_ powerful.

“I want to live up to your expectations, Father, but I don’t know if I am suited to such a weapon. Shouldn’t this sacred tome go to a person who could use it to its full potential.”

Father raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to say you aren’t that person?”

“I’m a healer. You once warned me that such a path isn’t one where I can seek glory for myself. I made my peace with that a long time ago,” Forrest replied. “ _I’m okay with that_. I want to protect the things that matter, but I don’t want power for the sake of power.” He turned the tome in his hands. Despite his words, he rested the spine on the palm of his hand and peered within its ancient pages.

This was not Fire lighting a candle in the dark. This was not a Rat Spirit bringing laughter and merriment. This was earth, gravity, and life. Too much power for one person to hold.

 _So much power_. _So easily misused_.

There was a glint in Father’s eyes. “So you are rejecting it, the most powerful tome in existence, on those grounds?”

“No…” Forrest trailed off. “Not exactly. The power of a sacred tome like Brynhildr has the potential to hurt innocent people. I don't want to take that kind of responsibility without truly understanding what it entails.”

“I see. It is very noble of you to want to keep people from harm,” Father said. “Powerful magic is dangerous. I believe we can agree on that statement.”

“Yes.” It wasn't just magic from tomes and scrolls that had the potential to bring harm. Even healing staves, when used incorrectly or by someone who was inexperienced, could turn a flesh wound into a fatal one. Then there were staves like the Hexing Rod, the effects of which Mother described as a curse.

“But, if used responsibly, by the right person, it could also be used to protect people.”

Forrest frowned. “How do you mean?”

“There are those who will always wish to take advantage of the weak. History has shown us this time and time again.” Father’s expression hardened and Forrest knew he was thinking about the evildoers that once served the crown. “But a strong defense can repel even the most vicious attack. It can sometimes even prevent fighting altogether. Can we agree on that much?”

“Certainly,” Forrest agreed, but a thought struck him. “But fear of one's enemy can also lead to reckless action.”

“It _is_ a double-edged sword, so the important thing is to be thoughtful and to wield your power responsibly. Abusing one's power is a great evil in this world. Possibly the greatest. I've always tried to keep that in mind since I received the book and yet…” Father chuckled, “and yet, in my arrogance, it was a _long_ time before I realized that Brynhildr’s power isn't meant to destroy, but to protect all along.”

“To protect...” Forrest repeated, his eyes falling back to the cover of the book. In his first attempt to summon a Rat Spirit from a scroll during a visit to Hoshido, Ms. Orochi had laughed in the way so characteristic of her and said he was doing it all wrong. Nohrian magic, she had explained, was wielding a weapon. You took a force of nature - fire, thunder, ice - and molded it to make it your own. Hoshidan magic was an everlasting battle of minds. You called forth a _shikigami_ into the material world and it shall do your bidding, but should you lose your hold over it for even a second, your servant would gain a will of its own and destroy you.

There was already a will in Brynhildr, Forrest was certain. Uncle Takumi had let Kiragi hold his sacred bow on his last birthday. His cousin was not one for poetry and yet he had described the action of the drawstring and arrow forming - however briefly - as the Fujin Yumi singing.

Brynhildr did not sing beneath his fingertips, but there was a pulse. Not quite a heartbeat, more like a yearning for something not there.

“It’s easy to forget the value of a singular life when it is one among thousands,” Father’s voice brought him back to reality, but he seemed to be talking to himself as much as he was to Forrest. “Despite all the talk I hear about how much you look like me, I always thought you were more like your mother where it matters most.” At this, he gently poked Forrest in the chest, making the latter grin despite himself. “With your compassionate nature and loving heart, I know you would use Brynhildr wisely and do things with this tome I never dreamed.”

“Father…” _Such high praise_. He hadn't blushed this hard since Mother recounted all the compliments she received while wearing a dress he made for her. “I-I'm still not sure if I'm ready.” With only a sliver of reluctance, he handed Brynhildr back to its current user. That power would be his one day, but not now. Not now… “I think I need to grow some more before I will be. But… when the time is right, I hope you will entrust Brynhildr to me.”

“I'm pleased to hear that,” Father said, eyes alight with pride. “I look forward to when that day comes.”

* * *

_xii. dragon spirit_

He knew there was something about Brynhildr and trees he was forgetting, but he didn’t quite place his finger on it until Siegbert muttered under his breath one day about how everyone seemed to think he was named after his father’s sword.

Siegbert was too polite to state out loud that he honestly thought his cousin had fallen into hysterics - because wasn’t a forest just a collection of trees?

* * *

_xiii. brynhildr_

It's not just _trees_.

Brynhildr… Brynhildr was something else entirely. It has outlived the founding queen of Nohr and every subsequent wielder following her. And one day, it will outlive Father. Forrest will follow, and his children and their children and then their’s… Lives and legacies that were the sum of _them_ , but mere bubbles in the endless flow of time.

If time was magic, then Brynhildr _was_ the most powerful of them all and it was the legacy Forrest was born to carry. _Me_ , he thought, as he rested his palm against the open pages of the tome, unable to stop himself from smirking. _The fashionista of a prince with a Hoshidan mother, who prefers dresses to armor, who would rather hold needles instead of swords… How many of my predecessors are rolling over in their graves right now?_

He liked to think not all of them would.

“How deeply do your roots run?” Forrest whispered, glad that no one was around to see him talk to a book. “You may belong to Nohr _now_ , but you come from a time that predates both kingdoms...” He wondered what it was like then, to live in a world without a boundary between east and west, between black and white. _I am half and half, but why should these halves divide me? My halves are what make me whole_.

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot write children OTL. Forrest is about 6-8 in sections i-vi, 12-13 in vii-xi, 14-15 in xii-xiii.


End file.
